


History Re-written

by Lady_Asani



Series: History Re-Written [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate History, Angst, Dark Humor, F/F, F/M, Find out inside, Gore, I break the rules if I want!, Mixed AUs, Multi, No multiple Characters, Only one of each, Period-Typical Racism, Resets, SHUSH, Violence, WTF do you do Sans?, WWII era, Wait-- why is Pap a flying ace?, War, but they may come from different AUs, mwahahahahaha-- cheesy marketing line., repeated character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 02:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15962756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Asani/pseuds/Lady_Asani
Summary: 1940's WW2 is an Era in Human history most shudder to recall. It was dark times, and for one woman, they're about to become even darker. With monsters, both human an inhuman, lurking around every corner-- will one woman make it to the end of the war alive an intact? Maybe. If she would just accept the help of a 'friend'.And what about these horrible instances of deja vu?NOTE: One chapter is actually two web pages-- this story will flip-flop from Frisk's POV and Sans'.





	1. The Blitz Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Ready for an emotional roller coaster? I'm not-- but I'mma go for it anyway.
> 
> The idea is sin-spired by StaringBack's "Sooner Or Later You're Gonna Be mine", as well as my dark and strange fascination with the WWII era as a whole.
> 
> This is my first fan fic since the days of Inuyasha on Fanfiction.net... Dark times for a writer indeed. Goodbye MSN groups!!! Yes, I know I dated myself. I'm old. =_= Stop judging and enjoy.

The bombing started on the afternoon of the 7th of September, 1940.

Almost 1,000 German aircraft - over 300 bombers escorted by 600 fighters - crossed the Channel. It was the largest collection of aircraft ever seen, anywhere, to date. Fighter Command had not expected raids on London, and neither had the city’s citizens.

A huge dogfight developed over London and the Thames Estuary.

The sky turned red that day, billows of brown and black smoke crept and leapt up into the sky—only parting way for the dropping bombs or being cut through by planes—though the smoke seemed determined to blot out the sun, quickly filling in the gaps made with more foggy spires.

The noise was almost too loud to hear. Disorienting and blaring, Frisk might have described it as quiet, though it was anything but. Such a deafening din was made that it left her numb and cold to the core. Explosions, shattering buildings, stone falling, the wail of sirens, people screaming. For a moment, it felt like Hell on Earth.  
  
But then—that had been the case for months now…  
  
The Germans had monsters on their side, after all. Not just the morally deprives—but real, life, physical monstrosities. Generals who would swim underwater indefinitely, with no need for oxygen tanks or heavy diving gear. Airships with faces, who grinned down on the burning city.

Spiders.

Frisk was pulled out of her daze by a new sort of wailing noise. A child. With a grimace, she pushed herself up, coughing as her lungs took in the dust around her. She squinted against the haze, bringing a hand to her head in an attempt to stop the spinning.  
  
_Focus, Frisk._ She scolded herself. Someone needed help.

And there—she spotted the little figure in the center of the street, holding a balloon. They wore a bright striped shirt—clearly a child.  
  
She swallowed a gasp and swear as she clambered to her feet, having been knocked silly by the falling street sign. It could have been worse. She could have been killed, or buried alive by the wall that seemed to have made its bed in the road beside her. She took a quick mental inventory of herself as the pain shot through her side. A gash to the head and a torn up dress, some dirk on her knees and a scrape on her hand— maybe a bruised rib. Nothing too bad.

The child in the road crouched down, hands to their face as they sobbed. Were they alone?

So it was her job, then. Grab the child, get to a safe place--  
What was that horrible whistle?

 

Frisk gasped as she sat up with a start, throwing debris off of her. What had just happened? A flash? A whistle?

Her eyes flickered skyward and her jaw dropped in horror. Another bomb was falling.

 

Frisk sat up with what felt like the tenth time—though this time she did not dare pause to think. She broke into a spring, kicking off her heels in the process. She had just wrapped her arms around the small crying child when--  
  
_Not again!_  
  
A cry of frustration broke through the young woman’s lips. She moved in one fluid motion this time, determined to make her way to the small boy and keep going.

The red and black mess of the world faded to gray in her peripheral as she sprinted to the child, scooped him up in her arms and took another step. Just a _little farther--_  
  
She was blown forward by the impacting bomb. Pulling the child close to her chest, she ducked her head down and tried her best to cover them with her own small frame. She landed hard on the road, tumbling after she heard the loud crack of the impact—but she felt no pain. In fact—she felt nothing, but immensely _tired…_

The whistle was gone. In it’s place, a high pitched ringing called her down into the depths of unconsciousness. But not before she swore she saw the shocked face of death himself looking down at her. She grinned back with a weak chuckle.

 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


	2. The Blitz Begins {p2}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blitz--- from a somewhat different POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um... Yeah... Chapter one is NOW officially complete-- since, you know, this is that part two I had mentioned...  
> Hope you enjoy!

The bombing started on the afternoon of the 7th of September, 1940-- A day that just didn’t seem willing to end.

Bombs fell over the city of London, creating spiraling towers of smoke and dust. Bomb shell after bombshell fell, creating flashes of light and fire and casting a thunderous rumble over the land. The sky itself was red—a colour which typically suited him just fine.

But it just didn’t seem to want to end.

Time was a curious thing. It seemed to slow down at crucial moments, only to speed up again to make up for it’s laps. And for all the years of magic and war he had seen—this was like no other.  
Women and children in the streets—stone and wood showering down like rain from the clouds of ash and soot.

And now time was acting oddly again. A familiar, yet entirely foreign way. An almost tangible sense of déjà vu washed over the city as each falling bomb was replaced by another.

Sans stood, a solid pillar among the chaos and watched.

What more could he do?

Papyrus had taken off, joining the humans in the air in an attempt to fend off the assault. Most men on the ground were trying to get women and children under ground—

Ironic.

And yet, as he watched, he found his eyes playing tricks on him. A bomb would fall. A woman would try to reach a child—only to be pulled back, snapping like a rubber band pulled too tightly. The smoke was getting to him, leaving his head light and foggy.

And it happened again.

And again.

_Wait a minute…_

Sans found himself staring in silent awe as the scene repeated itself.

There was _magic_ at work here.

He frowned, scowling as he watched the desperation in the woman give way to something else. Something fierce. Determination. He had seen it’s power before.

_Well. I’ll be damned…_

Unable to look away from the shambling mess of a woman as she tried, died, and tried again, he finally chose to act. What could it hurt? Helping one woman out of her limbo--  
He noted how her heels flew from her feet as she charged across that damned street again, a battle cry breaking from her lips. The yellow dress she wore tore at her knees like a billowing cape, and before he could talk himself out of it—before he could rationalize an anomaly—he had reached out and grabbed hold of her soul from a distance.

Typically, such magic would turn his vision red—yet in the crimson light of the burning city, he scarcely noticed as he pulled the woman forward.

He’d underestimated his strength.

As another shell fell, the little lady and her precious cargo were thrown through the air like dolls- landing hard at his feet with a sickening crunch. He shuddered—recognizing the sound of a shattered bone all to well.

And then, she smiled.

An odd sense of dread crept up his spine, like ice water being poured over his head in reverse. She chuckled as she looked up at him, his hand still extended out. And the daring little woman had the gall to laugh. A weak, tired, yet triumphant chuckle—as though she had somehow won a game.

And just like that, the little lady fell still, her arms still holding tightly to the little boy in her arms. It seemed almost poetic as the red balloon drifted up to the sky.

Hell continued to rain down upon the forsaken city.

With a grunt, Sans lowered his hand and looked around. He supposed there was no way around it now… He’d interfered already—the damage was done. What more would it hurt to bring them down to the tube.

To shelter. Underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada?
> 
> Chapter 2 will be more exciting, I hope. When Frisk awakens in the Subway tube underground with other civilians, and a few monsters, I wonder how she'll react?
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments or questions below. ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> >_>.... So, that's a wrap for chapter one. Well... One version of it anyhoo. Next will be from someone else's POV. And yes, I realize it's short. Based on how many people seem to even want more of this story determines if I'll bother making the chapters longer or not.
> 
> Whatcha' think? 
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback, questions or comments below! Chapter two will come out soon.


End file.
